


To Love and Be Loved in Return

by eyeslikeonyx



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Anxiety, Depression, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Established Relationship, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Past Child Abuse, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, True Love, baths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:41:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24173023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeslikeonyx/pseuds/eyeslikeonyx
Summary: Eddie has always thought he was good at reading Richie’s moods and emotions. They talk every day, have been there for each other through their highest highs and lowest lows. That’s what happens when you’ve been very close with the same person since kindergarten: they become a part of you, and you become a part of them in return.So it really should have been a clear indicator that something wasn’t right when Richie’s jokes started to die off.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 31
Kudos: 201





	To Love and Be Loved in Return

**Author's Note:**

> So a bit of a disclaimer for everyone: I wrote this as a way to cope with my own depression and anxiety that I've been dealing with as of late. This isn't meant to generalize depression or anxiety or how to treat it. How you take care of your mental health is your business and you are 100% valid in how you take care of yourself.
> 
> Please take care of yourselves. Things are hard right now, but please don't be afraid to talk to someone. This is the time where we need to come together and keep in touch with our friends and family the most. There are people out there who love you and care about you and want you to be okay. There is nothing wrong with getting help or having someone to talk to.
> 
> If you feel like I missed any warnings, please don't be afraid to let me know! You can send me a message on Tumblr or on Twitter (my username is the same on both platforms), and I promise I will discuss it with you.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always welcome!

Eddie has always thought he was good at reading Richie’s moods and emotions. They talk every day, have been there for each other through their highest highs and lowest lows. That’s what happens when you’ve been very close with the same person since kindergarten: they become a part of you, and you become a part of them in return.

He definitely thinks he knows Richie the best, since he’s also been dating the guy for more than half a year now. He can’t believe it took them this long to finally get their shit together, but better late than never. Besides, Richie’s not that hard of a person to figure out. It’s not like he’s some brooding, mysterious love interest in a teen romance novel. He’s loud and talks too much and is never afraid to speak his mind. He tells it like it is without thinking twice, and he’s not shy about it.

He also never stops annoying the shit out of Eddie or any of their other friends in their tight knit friend group, either. It’s almost like he thrives off of acting so fucking chaotic. He will say and do shit completely off the rails just so he can see how his friends and even total strangers will react. He lives off of being the center of attention at all times. 

So it really should have been a clear indicator that something wasn’t right when Richie’s jokes started to die off.

Eddie, Richie, and their other friends have been studying in the corner of the university library that they unofficially claimed as their own for the past two hours. It’s taken that whole two hours and many unrealized opportunities for Richie to insert a bad or inappropriate joke but not doing so for any of them to realize Richie actually hasn’t said a word the entire time they’ve been there. Eddie thinks Richie’s just sleeping, but he looks over to his left and sees that Richie is wide awake.

He looks so hyper-fixated on his anatomy notes, Eddie almost feels bad for wanting to interrupt his study time.

“You good over there, Rich?” Eddie asks quietly. Richie blinks and jumps a little at the sound of Eddie’s voice. He looks up to see the rest of the group staring at him with confused glances.

“What?” he says dumbly.

“Dude, you zoned out so hard,” Mike tells him. “So many missed opportunities to crack a joke.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever been that quiet for that long in your life,” Bill adds.

“You sure you’re ok, Richie?” Ben asks.

Richie blushes mildly, eyes darting between all of his friends before reaching back behind his neck—a thing he does when he doesn’t really want to talk. Something Eddie picked up on years ago.

“Yeah, just—just really need to make sure I pass this Anatomy test,” he explains. A lie. “Why? Do you guys miss my awful jokes about Eddie’s mom?”

Stan rolls his eyes.

“In your dreams, Richie,” he quips, but there’s no bite to his words. Richie’s smile is small, but it’s there. 

He doesn’t say anything else after that; he just goes back to his notes like nothing happened and keeps studying. No one else in the group says anything else to him, clearly satisfied with his desire to study.

Eddie wants to be, too. He wants to be thrilled at the fact that Richie’s laying off the jokes about wanting to fuck Eddie’s mom all the time. He wants to be proud of Richie for picking up healthy studying habits, considering Richie’s always been the fucking _worst_ about studying for anything in his life. He’s so fucking smart and still manages to pass all of his classes with flying colors, but Jesus Christ, the guy can’t focus long enough to study for anything.

Eddie ignores the faint feeling of dread resting in the pit of his stomach and goes back to studying his own notes. Richie doesn’t say another word the rest of the study session.

It goes on like that for the next two weeks, but everyone else, including Eddie, is too consumed by their own stress to really be concerned with Richie’s newfound habits of silence during studying, texting less frequently, and without nearly the normal amount of emojis he usually uses. 

Eddie is also beginning to wonder when Richie’s eating schedule got so sporadic. He wants to actually go over to Richie’s place and cook for them both and have a night in together like a normal date night, but they’re both too busy trying to get with their separate study groups and get through midterms and with Richie working that he doesn’t bother bringing it up. They’ll have time.

Midterms pass, Halloween comes, and Richie is starting to act more like himself. Halloween is easily his most favorite holiday, and Eddie is sure that Richie is going to want to do something to celebrate this year like he does every year. And he’s right, for the most part. When he’s asked about it, Richie is more than happy to tell everyone he’s going to the Pike house’s annual Halloween party and says he’s going dressed as a werewolf.

“You should go with me as my Little Red Riding Hood,” Richie says all flirtatiously, making Eddie playfully roll his eyes. But he’s not opposed to the idea. He’s all for looking like he got mauled and wearing the white crop top Bev helps him make, but he draws the line at the heels and faux leather shorts.

They get a lot of compliments on their costumes, and Richie—that smug bastard—loves getting to tell people that his boyfriend is the hottest Little Red Riding Hood at the party. Eddie would normally tell Richie to shut up, but he’s too happy to care. He feels great tucked up under Richie’s arm for the night. They’re both laughing and drinking and it’s the most relaxed and happy Eddie has seen Richie look in weeks.

The rest of the weekend is just as nice and relaxed with Richie and Eddie going to brunch with the other Losers the next morning and spending Sunday together in Richie’s off campus apartment until Richie has to work that night. And Eddie really fools himself into thinking that the worst is behind them; he and Richie have absolutely nothing to worry about and everything is going to be fine.

Richie’s texts stop coming in as frequently. No emojis in sight. When he shows up to the two lectures he and Eddie have together, he doesn’t look like he’s all there. Eddie doesn’t want to admit it, but he knows deep down that Richie looks even worse now than he did before midterms.

He knows Richie is off one night, so he thinks a movie night with some Thai takeout that night will do the trick. There’s no way Richie will turn down Thai and a movie.

“I can’t,” Richie says, face pinched. “Gotta study for this Economics test.” It’s such a bullshit excuse, and Eddie wants so fucking badly to call him out on it. But he doesn’t want to start a fight right now.

“Rich, you need a break,” he says instead. “We haven’t had an actual date night in a month and a movie night for longer than that. Look, I’ll even let you pick the movie, no matter how bad it is.”

“Eddie—”

“I miss you, Richie.” Eddie takes one of Richie’s hands into his and gently squeezes it. “Please? A break will do you some good.” Richie actually looks close to giving in and saying yes. But at the last possible second, he sighs and pulls away from Eddie with a sad smile.

“Maybe next time.”

Eddie’s heart sinks.

“But Richie—”

“I’m sorry.” And then Richie is walking away without hugging or kissing Eddie goodbye. Not even an _I love you_ or anything. Eddie doesn’t know if he should cry or walk away.

“I love you!” he shouts before Richie can get too far. A couple of people turn their heads at the sudden outburst, but most other people ignore it. Richie definitely doesn’t ignore it. He stops walking and turns around to face Eddie. He’s smiling—not as wide or as goofy as normal, but it’s a genuine, Richie smile all the same. It makes Eddie’s heart skip.

“Love you more, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie says back. He doesn’t come to give Eddie a kiss. He turns around to go back to his apartment, but Eddie lets it go. He knows something is wrong, and he’s not going to lie to himself and say that he’s not worried about Richie or their relationship and where it stands.

He sticks his headphones in his ears and starts playing music so he can take his mind off of things as he walks to his next class.

There’s a party at someone’s apartment off campus that following Saturday, and by that point, Eddie is sure Richie is going to break up with him come Monday. Richie hasn’t called, texted, or hung out with him since that day he turned down movie night after their class. Even worse, Richie skipped his fucking anatomy class they share together the other day, too.

“If he wants to break up with me, then why doesn’t he just fucking do it already?” Eddie says before taking a swig from his second drink of the night. “Why not just get it over with? Avoiding me and ghosting me is just fucking childish. I mean, come the fuck _on._ Be a fucking man and just dump me. Don’t skip your fucking classes to avoid me.”

“Wait, he’s skipping his classes he has with you?” Bev asks. She looks genuinely concerned, and—ok yeah, Eddie’s been lowkey freaking the fuck out about Richie acting like this, but he’s also really fucking pissed and upset. Richie’s been fucking ghosting him, and he just knows his heart’s going to get broken soon. 

His therapist, Dr. Conners told him that maybe Richie was just busy and to give him time and space to sort through whatever he’s going through.

 _“It could simply be stress from his classes and from work,”_ she had said at their session this past week. _“I know jumping to conclusions is extremely hard, and I know you want answers right now. I’m the same way about these kinds of things. But give him time. Let him come to you. Just because you two haven’t talked doesn’t mean you’re going to break up.”_

In retrospect, Eddie knows she’s right, but he wants to know what’s going on and how he can fix it. And he wants to know _now._

“So he’s skipping his classes now?” Ben chimes in next. “What the hell is going on with him? He’s never skipped a lecture since he started college. Not willingly. Only time he ever missed class was when he got the flu last year.”

“Wait, is he skipping out on work, too?” Mike asks. “Because if he’s calling in at work, then we’ve got a big fucking problem.”

“And he’s been ghosting all of us, too, Eddie, not just you,” Stan says. “He won’t talk to any of us, and we haven’t seen him, either.”

So it’s not just him. They’ve also picked up on the lack of jokes, the isolation, the bailing out on plans, the ghosting, the skipping of classes—

Eddie, suddenly realizing what all of these signs point to, wants to kick himself for taking this fucking long to figure it out. He’s planning on being a psychologist, and yet he can’t even help his own boyfriend when he’s hurting the fucking most. How could he have missed all the signs? Why didn’t he figure it out sooner?

Eddie puts his drink down and looks at his watch. **10:58 pm.** He grabs his jacket and puts it on.

“Where’re you going?” Mike asks.

“To check on Richie,” Eddie replies.

“You need us to come with?” Stan suggests. Eddie almost considers taking Stan up on his offer. The other Losers all look like they’re ready to come, too, so long as Eddie says the word.

“I’ll call you guys if I need anything,” he promises.

“Are you sure?” Bill asks.

“Yeah, I—I think it might be too much if all of us go over there right now. But I promise to call if I need you guys.”

Bev gives Eddie a small, sad smile before gently tugging Ben out of the way to let Eddie by. Eddie says goodbye to the group and quickly moves through the crowded apartment. As soon as he’s out of the building altogether a few minutes later, he shoots off a couple texts to Richie and begins the brisk walk to Richie’s apartment four blocks away. 

Richie doesn’t even read the texts that Eddie sends. Eddie’s just hoping Richie will answer the door instead.

Richie has always been a hard worker. He definitely didn’t half-ass his way through high school, and he’s always worked and he’s good with money. It also maybe helps that his parents are loaded and agreed to help him pay for an apartment his last two years of college if he kept his grades up and also kept a job--both of which he did.

So he’s been living in his own off campus apartment alone for about a year now, the lucky bastard. He offered to let the others come live with him, but everyone else is on scholarship, so he’s been living the dream life having an apartment all to himself. His door has always been open to his friends to let them come crash if they need a place to stay, obviously, but that place is his, and he’s been loving it.

Eddie’s starting to wonder if Richie living by himself was such a good idea, after all.

As soon as Eddie makes it to Richie’s apartment building, he hurries off past the doorman and to the elevators. He presses the button to Richie’s floor and checks the time on his watch. **11:13 pm.** He knows he’s moving as quickly as he can, but if something is wrong with Richie, every second fucking counts. What if he’s pulling away from everyone because he’s starting to fall off the rails? What if he’s already hurt himself, and it’s too late and Eddie ends up walking into the apartment to find Richie’s—

Eddie shakes his head and stops his mind right in its tracks. He needs to focus on getting to Richie and making sure he’s ok. That needs to be his main focus. 

He steps off the elevator when he makes it to Richie’s floor and practically sprints down the hall until he finds the door with the number **727** on it. His hands are trembling, and his insides feel all out of sorts, but he finds the strength to finally knock on the door and say, “Richie? You in there?”

He’s foolishly hoping Richie will answer the door looking all disheveled and crabby like he always does when someone wakes him up at ungodly hours. Maybe Richie will see him and will want him to come inside? Maybe they won’t fight? Maybe things will be completely normal and Eddie will realize he’s just been overreacting this whole time? Yeah, he’s just been misreading the situation, and Richie’s fine. He’s fine.

There’s no answer.

Eddie silently swears and shakily pulls out his spare key to Richie’s apartment from his jacket pocket. He unlocks the door and steps inside the apartment, gagging immediately. The place smells fucking atrocious, like a goddamn dumpster. Eddie takes a look around, but it’s dark and there’s not much light coming in from the main hall lights. He turns on the small lamp nearest to the door and stares in horror at the state of the usually much neater apartment.

Eddie quietly closes the door behind him, unable to tear his shocked gaze away from the disarray and disgusting mess of the space around him. Dirty, stained clothes are strewn all over the floor and furniture; to go boxes and containers still filled with food are all over the coffee table and the loveseat—Eddie has to take a deep breath through his mouth and turn away when he notices how moldy some of the containers are. Half empty cups are everywhere where there’s available space. Eddie almost falls flat on his face tripping over one of Richie’s shoes that’s halfway hidden under the couch.

In any other circumstance, Eddie would be running out of this place faster than he could think. No way would he be caught dead in a place as disgusting as this. But knowing that this place is Richie’s—it just makes him want to break down and cry for his boyfriend. This is so much worse than he could’ve imagined. He’s so tempted to start furiously cleaning everything in sight—fuck, he hasn’t even gotten to the kitchenette or Richie’s room or bathroom—but he can’t. Not yet. He’s fighting off every instinct to clean this fucking mess because he needs to find Richie.

 _Richie. Richie. Richie. Richie._ _Get to Richie. Please let Richie be okay._

Eddie quietly tiptoes around the mess until he reaches the closed door to Richie’s bedroom. His heart is beating so hard, he’s sure his ribs are going to break. He doesn’t know what he’s about to find, but he’s really fucking hoping it’s not the worst thing he’s trying not to imagine.

The door creaks a little as he opens it, but nothing else moves or makes a sound. Richie’s room stinks, too, but this is more because of body odor than anything. Eddie wouldn’t be surprised if Richie hadn’t taken a shower in a while, not if he’s doing this badly. Eddie can tell, even with the very little light from the lamp spilling in from the living room, that there is someone sleeping under the covers on the bed. There’s familiar dark curls peeking out from under the dark blue comforter and fluffy throw blanket covered in coconuts and palm trees that Eddie bought Richie for Richie’s seventeenth birthday.

“Richie?” Eddie quietly calls. Richie doesn’t reply. That comes at no surprise, considering Richie normally sleeps like the dead. Eddie steps further into the room, still trying to be as quiet as humanly possible. He stops until he’s standing in front of Richie’s face and kneels down until his eyes are level with Richie’s. The covers are bunched up so only Richie’s eyes and nose can be seen.

Eddie can really see Richie like this: up close, no glasses or goofy faces that Richie can hide behind. Eddie easily spots the bags and dark circles under Richie’s eyes; beneath the mess of his curls and despite how dark the room is, Eddie can still make out how hollowed out Richie’s cheeks are. He holds two fingers out underneath Richie’s nostrils, careful not to wake him up, and feels the tension leave his neck and shoulders when warm air faintly touches his fingers.

Richie’s alive. He’s breathing. Thank fucking Christ.

Eddie looks around the room a little more closely but doesn’t see any prescription or over the counter bottles lying around, nor does he see any alcohol. He goes into the bathroom attached to the bedroom next and turns on the flashlight on his phone.

Nothing.

He leaves Richie to sleep in the bedroom and goes back into the living room to look around but finds nothing there, either. Nor does he find anything in the kitchenette. He purposely ignores the mountain of dirty dishes in the sink and the overflowing trash can. He needs to remind himself that he should be happy.

Richie is alive. He’s just sleeping. He’s fine. He’s ok. Nothing bad has happened to him.

Except something bad _has_ happened to Richie, Eddie reminds himself. He’s been fucking suffering alone for God fucking knows how long, and it’s been so bad that he’s been skipping classes, isolating himself, not cleaning after himself, and simply not taking care of himself like he used to.

And Eddie was too selfish and absorbed in himself to see that the man he supposedly loves so much has been hurting. He’s a horrible boyfriend. He doesn’t understand how Richie can be with someone as conceited and petty as him. Richie could do so much better than Eddie; he deserves only the best, and yet he’s settled with pathetic, damaged, selfish Eddie fucking Kaspbrak. He settled on a fucking loser.

Deep breaths. _In—out. In—out. Breathe, Eddie._

Eddie looks around the apartment again. Everything looks so blurry, and he realizes belatedly that it’s because he’s crying. He’s likely been crying for a while from how much his eyes and face hurt. His nose feels all stuffy, and he knows his head is going to be hurting like a motherfucker later. He blinks around until his eyes decide to settle on the trash ridden loveseat.

Just a few weeks ago, he and Richie were on that exact same loveseat, laughing at some show they were bingeing on Netflix. Then the laughing turned into kissing and telling each other how much they loved each other before they decided to spend the rest of the afternoon in Richie’s bed. It feels like a lifetime ago since that day, and Eddie is wondering if he and Richie will ever get back to that place.

Suddenly, like a vicious slap to the face, something in Eddie—maybe his steely resolve he built up after years of bullshit abuse from his mother or maybe just his notoriously bitchy attitude coming to the surface—mentally scoffs. Of course he and Richie are going to be fine. Couples go through rough patches all the fucking time; that doesn’t mean that they’re going to immediately break up. And as far as Eddie knows, it’s not like it’s actually his fault that Richie is depressed. Some people become depressed and can’t even explain it. He should know this; he fucking studies this shit day in and day out. And Richie’s not acting this way to be a dick, either. This is a very obvious cry for help.

_So get up off your ass, Kaspbrak, and fucking help him._

Eddie looks at the time on his watch. **11:27 pm.** He looks back up at the mess before him. The vast majority of the mess is really just trash that needs to be thrown away and tossed in the dumpster. Nothing he can’t do or handle.

“Ok,” Eddie says aloud. “No more fucking moping. Let’s get to work.”

  
  
  


Richie doesn’t actually remember falling asleep. Not really, anyway. The last thing he remembers is getting a bunch of texts from the Losers group chat about a party going down at someone’s apartment not far from his place and another text from his manager at work asking him when he’s planning on coming back to work. He hasn’t been at work in almost a week and has called in for his past two shifts. He lied and said he had a stomach virus, but he knows he can’t stall out forever. And he can’t lose his job.

He deleted the text from his manager and had fallen asleep reading through the texts from his friends.

He knows he probably should’ve gone to the party; it would’ve been nice to see everyone and just hang out for a little while. He really misses his friends and knows he’s been avoiding them a lot lately.

But they probably would’ve gotten tired of him pretty quickly. It was best that he didn’t go, in the end.

He grabs his phone from the nightstand and sighs when he sees that the time is only **4:22 am.** The sun won’t start coming up for a while, so he’s just stuck here, lying in the darkness of his room with nothing better to fucking do. It’s not like there’s anything to watch on Netflix that interests him and no one to talk to that can distract him.

If he’s being honest with himself, he really wants to call Eddie. He wants to ask how the party went, even though he knows Eddie will just ask a bunch of questions about why he didn’t come. He could just come up with some excuse and say he had a paper to write or that he got called into work, but he knows Eddie won’t believe him. It’s literally going to be Eddie’s job to be able to read people, and he’ll be able to read through Richie’s lie without thinking twice.

Richie knows Eddie is pissed at him for avoiding him like this. He doesn’t blame him. He just—he doesn’t want Eddie to worry about him. He’s got enough to worry about with his overload of classes and volunteer hours at the health clinic and trying to get everything ready so he can get that big internship he’s been working his ass off for. The last thing Eddie needs to worry about is Richie’s emotional problems.

Besides, there’s really nothing for Eddie or anyone else to worry about. Richie’s fine—or at least he will be. He’s going to be. He’s just hit a rough patch. It happens to everyone. People go through way worse shit than he does all the fucking time. He still has a place to live; he’s still doing well in school; he still has a job, his friends, and his boyfriend. He should be thankful that nothing worse is wrong with him.

He’s fine. He will be fine. He has to be fine.

He blinks at his phone again when he notices that he also has a few individual texts from Eddie from the night before.

 **Eddie My Love** **11:02 pm** **  
**idk what’s been going on with you lately, but we need to talk about it

 **Eddie My Love** **11:02 pm**  
i’m coming over

 **Eddie My Love** **11:06 pm**  
i’m worried about you, chee. whatever it is that’s been bothering you, we can talk it out. i love you.

Richie’s heart aches as he reads the texts. His vision is a little blurry from the tears and lack of glasses, but he doesn’t care. Just reading that last message is enough to lift his spirits through the fucking ceiling.

Eddie still loves him. He loves him and still wants to work things out and help him out, despite how much Richie has been avoiding him.

 **To: Eddie My Love** **4:25 am**  
Shit I just now saw this. Can we get breakfast when u wake up? My treat?

He’s really hoping Eddie won’t ignore him and will still want to talk to him when he wakes up. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he and Eddie break up. He can’t remember a time in his life where Eddie wasn’t in it. They’ve been in each other’s lives constantly since fucking kindergarten. He doesn’t want to live a life without Eddie in it. He doesn’t know how the fuck he’s going to explain his reasons for avoiding Eddie and all that, but he can probably come up with a good lie to keep Eddie from stressing out even more than he already is.

He goes from anxious to very confused when he hears the faint _ding_ of another phone go off somewhere in his living room. With his phone clutched tightly in his hand and heart in his throat, Richie puts on his glasses, slowly climbs out of his bed, and creeps to the door. Who the fuck is in his apartment? Because whoever they are, they better be ready to square the fuck—

He barely has the door cracked open when he sees a smaller figure curled up in a mountain of blankets on the loveseat, clearly asleep. He recognizes that messy head of hair and the white marble phone case on the coffee table immediately.

“Eddie?” Richie softly calls. He’s about to call Eddie’s name again and ask why he’s sleeping on the loveseat when he notices that—that the loveseat is clean. There’s still plenty of room on it for someone to sit there, despite Eddie’s blanket nest.

The coffee table is spotless. There’s nothing on it except Eddie’s phone, a couple of Richie’s textbooks, a couple of candles, and Richie’s Xbox controllers. There’s no old takeout boxes or cups or any form of trash anywhere on the floor or in the other two recliners. There’s no stains on anything, and it smells like an air freshener has been used. The living room is fucking _pristine._

Richie staggers around the loveseat and makes his way into the kitchenette next, and it’s clean, too; as is the counter and the kitchen table. And there’s not a single full garbage bag in sight. He quietly goes back into his room and turns on the light. Not too much has been done in here, but it’s obvious someone picked up all of his dirty laundry and sorted it so that it’s ready to be washed. Every pile is organized by color and size, and there’s even a separate pile for all the stuff that needs to be sent to the dry cleaners.

He goes into the bathroom and notices that his stuff has been organized on the counter and on the edge of his bathtub. Everything looks how his apartment is supposed to look, how he’s supposed to feel: put together, organized, like everything is fine and normal.

Belatedly, he remembers that the person he is positive did all of this is currently asleep on his loveseat and definitely did all of this in just the span of a few hours. He did it without being asked or told. He just saw the mess at ungodly hours in the night and cleaned it. Richie doesn’t know if he should be embarrassed or thankful or angry or happy or some strange mix of every emotion he can think of. He hasn’t felt this many emotions at one time in a while, and he doesn’t know what to make of it.

He walks back into the living room and sees that Eddie still hasn’t stirred from his sleep. Shit, he probably fell asleep not that long ago. He did a lot of work and deserves the rest. Maybe Richie can just get breakfast delivered from that breakfast place Eddie loves so much? He should definitely order some macaroons from the little bakery down the block, too.

He gets so distracted thinking of ways he wants to apologize to Eddie that he ends up running his shin right into the corner of the coffee table. He quietly curses but not quietly enough, because he can hear the blankets rustling around on the loveseat. He turns in time to see a head of fluffy, brunette hair emerge from the blanket nest.

“Wha?” Eddie groggily says. He rubs at his eyes with the fabric of the black sweatshirt he’s wearing—Richie’s sweatshirt—before finally looking at Richie. He smiles sleepily. “Hey, stranger.”

Richie, the funny guy who always has to have something to say in any situation, is silent. He had all these questions he wanted to ask and all these things he wanted to tell Eddie. He had this long apology planned out, saying how sorry he is for making him feel like he had to clean up after him and making him feel like he has to baby him all the time.

But now, as he watches Eddie’s smile slowly turn into a frown, and Eddie stand up and hold Richie’s face in his hands—he thinks he hears Eddie ask if he’s ok, but his ears are ringing so loudly, he can’t really tell—all that can come out of his mouth is, “why?”

Eddie blinks at him.

“Why what?” he asks. Richie gnaws at his chapped bottom lip nervously.

“Why did you do all of this for me?” he finally asks after several moments of hesitation. His lip is wobbling, but he’s trying to play it off with a grin and a scoff. “I mean, c’mon, Eds, I know I can be a real fucking slob, but—”

He stops talking when he sees the way Eddie’s face crumbles.

“What’s wrong, Chee?” Eddie whispers. “What’s been going on with you? You can talk to me. You don’t even have to tell me exactly what’s wrong. All you have to say is you’re not ok. That’s all you have to do. I’m not gonna get mad at you or judge you. I want you to come to me when you’re not doing ok. I don’t want you to get this bad again. I don’t want this for you.”

Richie harshly sucks in a breath through his nose. He was trying so hard to not make Eddie worry, and all he did was make things worse. Just another thing to fuck up. 

“I don’t even know _why_ this is happening to me,” Richie sniffles. That’s the worst part about all of this, really. He doesn’t even fucking know why he’s like this. Eddie watches helplessly as Richie starts to cry, making his glasses fog up, snot run down his nose, the whole nine fucking yards. “One day I was fine, and then I just—I don’t know what happened. I don’t feel like myself anymore, and—and I thought it would go away. But it hasn’t, and I’m—”

Eddie keeps wiping away the tears from Richie’s cheeks. He doesn’t say a word; he just brings Richie into his arms, holding him tight.

Richie hates how quickly he goes slack in Eddie’s embrace, burying his face in Eddie’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist. He’s supposed to be the comforter, the one who takes care of people when they’re hurting and make them laugh when they’re sad. He’s not supposed to be the one on the other side of that dynamic. He’s supposed to be stronger than this.

But he can’t deny how much of a relief it is to have Eddie holding him like this. Deep down, he knows he’s really needed Eddie’s love and support, but he didn’t want to be a burden. He didn’t want Eddie to worry. He thought he could handle it. He didn’t even realize how badly he was doing until this very moment.

He wishes he would’ve gone to Eddie about how he was feeling a lot sooner.

“When was the last time you took a shower?” Eddie whispers.

Richie feels humiliation creep up the back of his neck.

“I don’t remember,” he finally admits. Eddie squeezes his shoulders a little tighter. “Do I smell that bad?”

“I just think a shower will help you feel better. Or maybe a bath, since you like baths a lot more. And you can relax more with a bath. You ok with me getting the water started for us?”

“Us?” Richie isn’t sure he heard that right. “You wanna take a bath with me?”

“Is that ok with you?”

“Yeah, I just—you hate baths. The whole sitting in your own filth thing normally freaks you out.”

“Yeah, but I can let it slide this time. I just wanna take care of you, Richie.”

“But why? I mean, I’m not complaining or anything. I just—” Eddie pulls back enough to look Richie in the eyes.

“Do you remember that time I snuck into your house when we were like—fuck, I think we were sixteen? I called you after I had that blowout fight with my mother, and you came and picked me up as soon as I called you because she fucked up the tires on my car. And I had that anxiety attack that was so bad, I couldn’t even fucking move. And you insisted on putting me in the bathtub and giving me a bath because you said—and I quote—‘Baths cure everything. You’ll feel so much better after a really good bath.’ I wasn’t even sad at the time, by the way; I was just full of fucking murderous rage and was sore because I had gone so fucking stiff.”

Richie smiles a little, despite himself.

“You insisted on staying with me and washing my hair and talking to me in all those stupid fucking voices and never leaving my side,” Eddie continues. “You didn’t want me to be alone. That’s what you told me. You wanted me to feel better and to know that you would always be there for me. You just wanted me to be happy again, and you still do—all the time.”

Eddie sniffles, his dark eyes becoming glassy.

“And all I want for you is to be happy, too, Chee, and be there for you when you’re not feeling okay. I want to be able to take care of you and love you when you need me the most. And I’m sorry if I ever made you feel—” His voice breaks and trails off on the last sentence. Richie wants to tell Eddie that he shouldn’t apologize for anything, but he stays silent. He rests his forehead against Eddie’s and lets him take a moment to gather himself before talking again.

“I never want you to think that I don’t want to take care of you, because I do. I always want to be here for you like you are for me. You don’t have to deal with everything alone. You’re not a burden or a nuisance. Richie—”

Richie lets Eddie cup his tear-streaked face again. He holds onto Eddie’s wrists, needing something to ground himself with.

“Richie, I love you,” Eddie says. So sure and solid, no waver in his voice, even with all the tears. “All of you. Every part of you. No matter what happens, I’m always going to love you. And I’m always going to want to take care of you. You always take care of me, and I couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend or best friend to love me and take care of me the way that you do. So let me return the favor: let me give you a bath. Let me take care of you. Please.”

Richie has no idea how he got lucky enough to end up with someone as kind of as amazing as Eddie Kaspbrak. He doesn’t even try to convince Eddie that he’s fine or that he can take a bath alone. He just nods and lets Eddie take his hand and take him to the bathroom. 

When they get to the doorway of the bathroom, Eddie turns around and rises up on his tiptoes to gently kiss Richie’s lips. Richie happily kisses him back and holds him close.

It’s the first time they’ve kissed in weeks.

“Hey, Eddie?” Richie mumbles against Eddie’s mouth.

“Yeah?” Eddie hums distractedly.

“I got snot all over your shirt.”

“So? I don’t care.” Richie pulls back and stares bewilderedly at his boyfriend.

“Who are you and what have you done with Eddie Kaspbrak?”

“I don’t know. Who are you and what have _you_ done with Richie Tozier?”

There’s a glint of a challenge in Eddie’s eyes—a dare for Richie to say some smartass comment or make a dumb joke. It’s almost like Eddie _wants_ him to do it. Richie narrows his eyes playfully.

“He was abducted by aliens,” he says in a low, nasally voice. “And they all look like your mom.”

A pause, then a loud snort and snicker from Eddie that Richie can’t help but join in on. Eddie fondly shakes his head and reels Richie in for another lingering kiss. Richie has really missed this—missed Eddie. He’s missed so much of his life over the past couple of months, and he wants to make up for it.

But for now, he’s going to let Eddie keep kissing and taking care of him.

The bath is nice. Eddie ends up finding Richie’s favorite bubble bath soap that he uses for special occasions. It’s stupid expensive, smells like sandalwood, produces so many fucking bubbles, and it’s his favorite.

Eddie strips down and gets in the tub first and then has Richie get in after him but makes him stay sitting up for now. There’s some beachy type music softly playing from Eddie’s phone on the bathroom counter, and Eddie has actually taken it upon himself to bathe Richie along with washing his hair. When Eddie says he’s going to do it, Richie thinks he’s kidding. Then he sees Eddie grab the washcloth and body wash.

“I meant what I said about taking care of you, Chee,” Eddie says as he runs the washcloth under the running faucet.

“This isn’t gonna weird you out? Bathing me and shit?”

“I’m literally sitting naked in a tub with you, and I’ve touched your dick too many times to count. I promise this won’t weird me out. Let me do this for you.”

So that’s how Richie finds himself being bathed by his boyfriend at five in the morning on a Sunday. For a few minutes there, he was sure sex was bound to follow. Everything feels so intimate, and he’s sure one thing is going to lead to another. But this feels new, like he and Eddie have reached a new point in their relationship. He feels like having sex right now will somehow ruin this new connection they’re starting to build.

“You know,” Eddie says as he gently bathes between Richie’s shoulder blades, “sometimes there’s never really a reason for why we get depressed. It just—happens. It’s a chemical imbalance in your brain, and you can treat it with therapy and medication, if you want to do medication. A lot of people just stick with therapy, and it seems to work just fine for them.”

“You only do therapy for your anxiety,” Richie murmurs.

“Yeah. I think taking medicine might help, too, but you know how I am about taking medicine.” Richie does know. He doesn’t blame Eddie for his wariness about taking medication. “The therapy alone has done a lot for me, and I don’t wanna mess that up.”

“You think it could really help me, too? Therapy?”

A pause.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think it could.”

They keep talking, mostly about mundane stuff that’s been going on with the other Losers. Richie’s trying to keep up, but he thinks he’s going to need Eddie to go over everything again when he’s a little less tired.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep on me,” Eddie chides softly. “I still need to wash your hair.”

Richie thinks Eddie has missed his calling. If there’s such a thing as being a head massage therapist, that’s what Eddie needs to do. And he should make _millions_ in that field. He tells Eddie this and feels smug at Eddie’s laugh.

“No fucking way,” Eddie says. “I don’t wanna touch people’s heads and hair all day. Besides, you’re the only person I’d do this for. No one else gets to have my magic hands.”

Richie’s heart skips a few beats, and he can’t stop the small, pitiful “I love you” from slipping between his lips. Eddie’s fingers slow their pace a little, and a moment later, Richie feels a tender kiss being pressed into his shoulder.

“I love you, too, Richie.”

Eddie carefully rinses the shampoo out of Richie’s hair with a red Solo cup he had grabbed from the pantry earlier and then moves on to the conditioner. Richie swears he could cry from how good he feels having Eddie wash him clean and make him feel brand new. He really doesn’t deserve Eddie at all.

When all the conditioner is rinsed out, Richie is sure Eddie is going to want the bath to stop. But Eddie, who is apparently still full of surprises this morning, gently tugs Richie into his arms so that Richie’s back is pressed into his warm chest. Eddie is so relaxed against Richie, acting as though he could lie here forever. Eddie Kaspbrak: the same guy who despises sitting in his own filth, and even worse, someone else’s. He’s not moving, and he’s not letting Richie move away from him, either.

Richie tilts his head back onto Eddie’s shoulder and closes his eyes.

Despite Eddie’s desire to do everything himself, Richie does convince him to let him drain and rinse out the bathtub while Eddie changes the sheets on the bed. When the sheets are changed and the tub is drained and cleaned and they’ve gotten changed into some clean clothes, Richie looks out the window and can see the sun starting to rise. He grins and puts his glasses on before tugging Eddie over to the bench by the window in his living room. Eddie fondly rolls his eyes and grins as they sit on the wooden bench by the window, arranging the pillows to get comfortable and pulling the curtains back enough to be able to watch the sunrise together.

They watch the colors change from the twilight greys to the purples and oranges that Richie loves to watch every morning. 

He wishes he could do this with Eddie every morning.

But he knows Eddie’s not ready for them to live together. Eddie has only really been on his own since he graduated high school, and he’s really enjoying having a solo dorm. He worked his ass off getting out of Derry and away from his mother, and he’s fought for every bit of his independence. Obviously, Eddie knows Richie’s place is always open for him; he’s even got his own spare key. But Richie knows how much Eddie has craved this kind of freedom—how badly he’s needed to really grow more into himself and his identity while being away from his mother and away from Derry.

Richie’s so fucking proud of Eddie and everything he’s accomplished so far in life. And he can’t wait for the days where he and Eddie can wake up and watch the sunrise while getting ready for work together every morning. They’ll be one of those cheesy domestic couples they always see on TV.

The pastels are starting to turn into golden rays peeking past the skyscrapers. Richie turns to say something to Eddie about how awesome the view is but stops and smiles softly at how droopy Eddie’s eyes look. He leans in until his and Eddie’s noses are almost touching.

“I think we need to get you to bed, Eds,” he whispers before kissing Eddie’s cheek. Eddie frowns like he always does when Richie calls him _Eds,_ then hums like he’s agreeing and holds out his arms for Richie. Richie laughs a little and picks Eddie up bridal style, taking him back to bed. He’s starting to feel tired himself. He was planning on just letting Eddie sleep and getting some laundry done, but his eyes are starting to flutter, too, and he knows he won’t be able to stay awake for much longer.

“Hey, Eddie?” he asks after he’s put Eddie down, closed the curtains, and climbed into the bed next to his boyfriend.

“Hm?” Eddie sounds so comfortable and so close to falling asleep. Richie feels bad for interrupting him, but Eddie said he could talk to him and ask him for anything. He promised Richie that Richie wasn’t a burden or a nuisance. All Richie has to do is trust him and believe him.

All he has to do is ask.

“Can you hold me?”

Without any hesitation, Eddie says, “Yeah, of course, Chee.”

Then he’s arranging them so that Richie’s head is resting on his chest, his ear right over Eddie’s heart. His fist is gently gripping Eddie’s baggy sweatshirt, and the covers and blankets are hiding most of his face. Eddie’s arms are protectively wrapped around Richie, and their legs are tangled together. Richie feels warm, safe.

“Better?” Eddie asks. Richie melts against Eddie, eyes closed and brain almost completely shut down.

“Yeah,” he slurs. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Richie.”

Richie doesn’t feel like he’s been magically cured of anything, and he knows that he can’t ignore these feelings he’s been having. This isn’t something he can laugh off with a joke or fake with a smile. This is real, and it scares him. He’s fucking terrified and wishes he could go back to being how he used to be before all of this.

He’s definitely going to look into therapy. And he owes the Losers a big fucking apology for how he’s treated them lately. And he needs to get caught up on his classes. And he needs to get back to work and talk to his manager. And he wants to figure out a way to make it up to Eddie after everything Eddie did for him last night and this morning.

But all of that can wait until later. For now, he will bask in the feeling of sleeping in Eddie’s arms, knowing that he is cherished and loved—that someone does care about him.

**Author's Note:**

> You are loved, and you deserve happiness. Please don't forget that.


End file.
